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<title>Spud-Salad by bettashark, moiety</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041859">Spud-Salad</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettashark/pseuds/bettashark'>bettashark</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moiety/pseuds/moiety'>moiety</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Poetry, Crack, Gen, Potatoes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:40:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettashark/pseuds/bettashark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moiety/pseuds/moiety</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when friends are sitting around coming up with weird Gil-Galad origin stories...odd things happen.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Spud-Salad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spud-Salad was a Tater King.<br/>
Of him the farmers sadly sing;<br/>
The last whose fields were fair and free<br/>
Between the Mountains and the Sea.</p><p>His fries were long, his salt was keen.<br/>
His scarecrows from afar were seen;<br/>
The countless seeds of farmer's field<br/>
He'd spread to make a better yield.</p><p>But long ago he hoed away,<br/>
And where he farms now none can say;<br/>
for into compost fell his star<br/>
in Mordor where the aphids are.</p>
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